, ,

now i am in a state of perpetual exhaustion and nausea
a sharp tone from anyone devastates me
and even the tiniest shudder or delicate glance
evokes ire and even terror

this project clings to me like a four-year-old
and i with skinned eyes and raw heart push on
if i don't eat i am fainting
and the ruby red of my closed eyes blinds me
if i eat, i have too much energy
at this speed i will surely burn up
and fly straight to the edible sun

because i said so
because i never do what i say
because i never speak the truth
my brain is cornered, pressed against live wires

why is this chaos so intolerable
i am engaged in a search for real beauty, in a line, in a stroke
no color is ever bright enough
no line is ever elegant like i imagine it should be.
i erase all that is clumsy or hackneyed, i think
but so much is left to the imagination
therefore i am failing every day.

hunting butterflies

homeage to "les enfants du paradise"

the inevitable result of 'olympic fever'
nastia liukin:

me dragging a christmas tree eighty new york blocks in a blizzard.
i know… where's the blizzard, what was the song? and where is the flask of courvoisier?

you could call this 'starstruck'

o.k. i stopped on this one because it will be such a breeze to finish at the end of thirty day experiment. by the way, this experiment is called "no excuses"

i'd better go to another page or 'dial-up' will never see… "make a cup of tea. you have my heartfelt sympathy." 🙂